"No, not mine; ask him to bless some one else; some one whom I love and
who is far away."

It seemed to her like the turning point of a life-time when Christmas
Day was passed. Now for the glad New Year which was to bring him back to
her.

The first days of the year were months to her. This year was to bring
her love, her husband, her marriage--all--blessed new year. When the
bells chimed on the first day she went to church, and kneeling with
those true of heart and simple of faith as herself she prayed the new
year might bring him home.

It was pitiful to see how the one precious hour of the day was the hour
in which she wrote to him those long, loving letters that were poems in
themselves. He wrote, but not so often; and she saw from the newspaper
reports of all that he did and where he went.

She will never forget the day on which she saw the first snow-drop. It
was like a message from a lovely modest flower, raising its white head
as though it would say to her, "No more tears; he is coming."

She went into a very ecstasy of delight then. Golden primroses and pale
cowslips came; the sweet violets bloomed, the green leaves budded, the
birds began to sing; it was spring, delicate, beautiful spring, and in
June he would come.

She was almost ready for him. It was April now, and she had worked
without intermission. She loved to think of his pleasure when he found
her so improved. She delighted in picturing what he would say, and how
he would reward her with kisses and caresses; how he would praise her
for her efforts; how proud even he would be of her.

"I want you to tell me the exact truth," she said to one of the masters.

"I will tell you any truth you wish to hear," he said.

"I want you to tell me this. If you met me anywhere, and did not know
that in my youth I had received no training, should you, from anything
in my manner, find it out?"

"No," he replied, frankly. "I would defy any one to know that you have
not been born the daughter of a duke. Permit me to say, and believe me I
am sincere, your manner and conversation are perfection."

She was happy after that; people would not be able to laugh at him and
say he had married a low-born wife. She would be equal to any lady in
the land when she was Lady Chandos.

The spring was giving place to the laughing, golden-hued summer. He had
gone to Italy; his parents were there; they had been spending the spring
in Rome and he had joined them.

Nothing